Dimensionality
by M.B.Liddle
Summary: As the Federation slowly heals from the scars gained in the Dominion Wars, a new threat raises its head in a form that hits much closer to home. Inspired by the mirror universe episodes of Trek, this fic puts a different spin on the worlds on the Other Side. Mostly OC cast in a story set upon the backdrop of the first truly inter-dimensional war.
1. Prologue

Dimensionality

The sun rose on a sleeping forest. Steam rose from pools and streams in the already humid heat of early morning. Thunder rolled in the distance in the cloudless sky. Lights flashed in the bruised purple atmosphere. Chitterings and warbles rose to a deafening crescendo as the creatures of the forest awoke and began their daily routines. Thunder rolled through the forest again and all the creatures fell silent. That silence was broken as noise erupted into the morning air. A great fireball screamed towards the ground, followed by a shower of metal shards, red-hot from reentry. Fires burned throughout the forest as the steel rain continued. The morning was then split by an altogether different sound. A keeping shriek filled the sky as dart-like shapes screamed across it, exchanging ropes of energy. The rolling thunder increased in volume and tempo as larger shapes began to cast shadows in the sky. One such shape broke away from the rest in a steep dive. The thick metallic shape listed slightly as it plummeted towards the ground. Smoke belched from holes that covered its surface. In the melee above, its departure was barely noted.

"Captain," the tactical officer's voice cut through the din of the combat bridge. "One of the enemy ships is breaking towards the planet!"

"Helmsman, I want an intercept course plotted, Guns, prepare to fire once we have them in broadside!"

"Aye, Captain."

The captain's mouth split in a pointed grin as her ship dipped into the planet's atmosphere. This was her chance to make full-captain, commander of a real starship of the line, not some aristocrat's escort. The viewscreen took on a cherry tint as the air pressure began to interact with the ships shields. The escort's chase guns began to thump their steady tempo, bracketing the fleeing ship with bright packets of energy. The fleeing ship grew larger on the screen as the faster escort bore down on it.

"Captain, the fleeing ship is hailing us." The signals officer reported in clipped tones.

"Put it on screen." The captain stood and smoothed her Navy blue uniform. The screen shimmered, replacing the fleeing ship with a haggard looking face. A series of hastily stifled gasps ran through the more junior bridge officers. The Captain's smile took on an almost predatory glint.

"General Spock, we should have known that you would try to run. Clearly you can see that your rebellion is finished. Surrender your vessel and prepare to answer for your crime of High Treason."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that Captain."

"Come now General, certainly _logic_ must dictate that you can't win. No further lives need not be wasted." The Captain was sure to inject as much biting sarcasm into the word 'logic' as possible.

"You are mistaken Captain, in the grand scheme of things, my life matters little. Already a message has been prepared for those who will tear down the oppression of the Commonwealth." The transmission cut off and was replaced with the smoking warship once more.

"Captain, I am reading an energy build up on Spock's ship." The signals officer highlighted the already visible light being emitted from the other ship.

"If you're not going to come quietly," the Captain said to herself, "Guns, do we have a lock?"

"Yes ma'am." The Gunnery chief reported.

"Good, Helm, swing us about, fire all guns once we have clearance." The ship shuddered almost imperceptibly as her broadside batteries rendered General Spock's ship into fire and molten metal. The stricken ship fell from the sky and exploded in a brilliant actinic flash, leaving a massive crater in the forest below. "Signals, hail the Admiral's ship, tell him this rebellion is over." The Captain sank back into her metal command couch. Soon enough she would be sitting on the Royal Commonwealth Navy's finest leather, she would make sure of it.

* * *

Author's Note:

So this is an idea that's been knocking around my head for quite some time. It's gone through quite a few iterations before this one, but this is the one I've been happiest with so far. While I don't have much more than this written out so far, I do have a fairly solid outline, so depending on response I could take it on as a kind of side-project. Let me know what you think.

-Liddle Out


	2. Chapter 1

Dimensionality Chapter 1

Lieutenant Samuel Caulder of Starfleet sat at his desk late into the night cycle of his small and out of the way science station. He had always called it 'his' station, despite sharing it with a gaggle of junior grade ensigns and a handful of enlisted men. His 'command,' such as it was had once seemed like a blessing, a station far from the fighting that had broken out across three quadrants, and a place to truly put his skills to use. But the war had ended years ago, almost a decade now, and Sam was still here. He shuffled through the stack of datapads piled haphazardly on the small desk without really seeing them. This posting had become a prison, a waste of his potential and a dead end for what should have been a meteoric career. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, hoping to clear some of the bleariness. In the reflective screen of the computer terminal that perched at the edge of the desk, Sam looked himself over. He looked exhausted, eyes sunken slightly in what had once been a young and smiling face. It was neither now, and showed more than its fair share of deep creases. His neatly cropped brownish hair still clung to his high forehead, but he knew it was only a matter of time, not even Federation medicine could cure genetics. A hot cup of something brown and strong smelling was placed lightly on the desk at his elbow. The lieutenant took it and drank it gladly before turning to meet the pretty face of one of his four ensigns. This one, Mitre, or something, was slender and blonde. Fresh from the Academy in San Francisco, she was about half of Sam's age, and she looked every year of it. Her features were distinctive, a narrow nose set in a constantly smiling face. Though Sam almost universally detested the schoolchildren he had been charged to babysit on the out of the way outpost, she was his favorite. Now if only he could remember her name. He mumbled a few words of thanks and downed the rest of the drink, which he had decided was supposed to be coffee. The girl took his mug and left with a smile. Sam took a look at the datapad he had been cradling in his other hand for going on twenty minutes without actually reading it. The data was a routine scan of the planet below, a weekly reminder of the unchanging nature of his work here. Something caught his attention as he scanned though. Some of the figure looked off. He called for the ensign.

"Ensign, are these numbers correct?" he held the PADD above his head. The young woman was back at his side in a flash.

"Yes sir, I took these readings myself," she said in a bubbly voice, "why, is there something wrong with them?"

"Run those scans again, could you? And make sure to double check this time. Something looks a little… off down there." He handed off the PADD and let the ensign skip off to complete her task. Once she had gone, he swung his chair around to stare out of the large window that separated him from a long fall to the planet below. The orb hung, grey blue and ugly purple as it rotated slowly on its axis. Soon another day would finish; another tally mark on the inside of his cell. He scratched at the stubble he really should have brought back into regs a week ago and leaned back into the chairs padding, finding himself silently wishing that the anomalous readings were more than just the results of a botched scan.

* * *

All around her the dancers swirled in the intricate patterns of the Venusian Waltz. To Commander Amanda Gray, it was a familiar sight, though that didn't cheer her any. As daughter of a career soldier, she had more than a passing relationship with the pageantry of the Royal Commonwealth Navy promenades. The promenade was ages old, a tradition dating back to the time shrouded Grand Balls of the British Empire on Earth, continued through that empire's unbroken rule of mankind all the way up to the dance Gray found herself standing in, dressed in all the finery of a junior officer's full dress uniform. Gray watched the dancers with steely eyes, searching each face, sizing up each possible competitor. For the young woman had not come to the Governor-General of Delta Aquilae Colony's Spring Promenade for a night of dancing, she had come for a command. It was common knowledge that a young officer's career was made or broken not in the halls of the Admiralty, but at one of the many social events that sprung up where Commonwealth ships made port. An Empress' Commission would guarantee you entry, but it would take noble blood or serious political capital to land the place as Captain of your own vessel. Political capital was something Amanda Gray now had to spare; firing the last shot of an insurgency that had burned among the stars for ten years had a way of bestowing that, she now had to find the right person to expend it on.

She scanned the room again, still no flag officers. They were no doubt still lounging in their private mess, leaving the junior officers to mill about with the local nobility. Amanda silently cursed. If they failed to show before the second hours of the festivities, she would have to give it up as a bad job, already her ship, the _Contest_, called out to her. It was a small ship, only an escort class, only six guns in each broadside and two in the chase armament. Gray had her eyes set on a much more prestigious prize, one of the venerable Excalibur-class cruisers fresh from the shipyards and still without an assigned captain. With any luck, the honour would go to her. She hazarded a look over at her main competition. Two of them stood chatting over small glasses of punch. One, a round man much older than herself was already quite red in the face. He was Commander Olin, a career Leftenant who had eventually been awarded the rank of commander on account of time served faithfully, if not fruitfully, was about due for a command out of sheer pity. He was the least threatening of the three others who people believed stood the strongest claim to the ship. The woman he was talking to represented the second most threatening. The eldest daughter of a major merchant in the Commonwealth's Northeastern sector, Commander Lara Hartnell cut an attractive figure in her custom tailored dress uniform. Her faintly auburn hair hung loose in a sheet of curls that bobbed back and forth as she talked. She had the least time in rank of all the competitors, but she was well known for the sharp political mind that hid between vapid smiles and fashionable haircuts. She was a wolf dressed as a lamb and seemed able to twist every minor accomplishment into a reason to be advanced ahead of her peers.

The final competitor stood, tall and handsome, among a small crowd of young ensigns and midshipmen. Even in a relatively undecorated uniform of a newly minted naval officer, the man drew the eyes. His name was Jonathan Shepard. The man had earned his rank in the Cavalry, fighting on the frontier and in famous campaigns such as Altair 4, Sigma Draconis, and Vulcan. His exploits had left him with a rakish scar that ran from mid temple to pointed chin on his left side and enough medals to cover his chest twice over had he not made a habit of only wearing his Order of the Empress and red Wound Badges. He spoke easily with the younger men, who hung on his every word. His sudden decision to strike for fleet had almost sunk Gray's own plans for the newly constructed _Astartes_ until her chance pursuit of the traitor Spock's flagship. With the vulcan's rebellion finally crushed, she might still have a chance.

"Excuse me, Commander, would you honor me with a dance?"


	3. Chapter 2

Dimensionality Chapter 2

Commander Gray turned to find a shorter, older man in the sash and high collar of a flag officer. Greying hair bracketed a rounded face that was split by a broad mustache that was equally grey.

"Admiral Hallis, I didn't know you were in attendance," Gray said with the required clipped politeness. She extended a sweeping hand. "I'd be delighted." The two came together in a loose coupling, moving onto the floor with well-practiced steps. The admiral danced surprisingly well for a man of his age, keeping up with the much taller commander.

"It's rare to find you at these affairs m'dear. Could it be you've finally shrugged off your father's influence?" the older man said with an almost Vulcan eyebrow.

"What was the saying he always used? A snowballs chance on the sun… sir." She allowed her face to reveal a fraction of a smile as the two of them went into a sweeping maneuver that pulled them into sync with the other dancers. The slow waltz being played by the musicians sped up slightly.

"Good, good," Hallis chuckled, "I'd hate to see the old goat's fire go to waste. So if you're not here for the finery, you must be seeking favor for command of the _Astartes_," he stated flatly, "don't look so surprised, I keep at least half an eye on what the junior officers are jockeying for, helps me look out for young up-and-comers like yourself aiming for my job." He chuckled again. The good humored sound let Gray relax a little. She had been sure she hadn't shown any surprise, but at least she hadn't offended.

"So the captain still hasn't been chosen? I hadn't heard." She attempted detachment.

"Commander, please," the admiral said as he executed a turn into promenade, "If you're half the officer your father was, you not only know it hasn't been captained, but also that your name has received mention."

"I may have heard something to that effect. She's a very pretty ship, isn't she?" Gray said as they passed dangerously close to Commander Olin and his dance partner. The dance slowed, allowing her to pull further away.

"To be sure, a pretty ship that deserves a pretty captain. Now, all such a captain would need is a chance to show the brass her mettle. Have I told you that the Governor-General is hosting a series of war games this week?"

"No, you haven't. Unfortunately my XO was kind enough to remind me, while also delivering my orders to patrol the outer moons. I had hoped to participate, but it looks like it isn't in the cards."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Captain Waterhouse of the _Belgrade_ is out of commission. Tamaranian Flu, nasty stuff, but it does leave my flag down an escort." The offer didn't have to be further explained. The chance to act as escort for a flag officer's ship, even in war games was a position often longed for by junior officers, and one rarely extended to the daughters of Royal Marines.

"You are most generous, Admiral," she said politely.

"Nonsense, it's truly the least I could do," the admiral's practiced and refined tongue slipped for a second, betraying his origins, "Daniel Gray was the best damn Master at Arms I have had the privilege to command, and was a better officer of Marines. It was a great shame what happened on Orion, one I think I can finally start to set right." The thick voice of the admiral withdrew behind cultured walls once again. "You'll have your new orders before the day is out. I expect the _Contest_ to be at dock for fleet maneuvers by tomorrow. Now, I thank you for the dance, I must see to some other matters." The man bowed low, a gesture Amanda matched. With a twirl, the Admiral was gone, lost in the swirl of the waltz. Amanda allowed herself a broad smile before taking up a dance with a very confused junior midshipman.

* * *

Nothing made sense. Sam slammed the latest PADD down on the desk, scaring of the ensign who had brought it to him. This one, a young man called Strakes, was almost as dour faced as Sam, though only half as brilliant. He did his duty admirably though. Caulder didn't like to admit it, but he saw a lot of himself in Ensign Strakes, if only the man had shared his genius.

"And you double checked them? Triple Checked?"

"Yes Lieutenant, these readings have picked up over the last three hours. There's almost a pattern to them, but our scrubbers have as yet been unable to pick out any detail as to what that pattern might mean."

"Alright, keep checking every half hour, record everything," the officer said, swiveling in his seat to stare out the wide window. The anomalous readings had not only continued, but they grew stronger by the hour. All emanating from a point in the lower atmosphere that should have been empty air. It _was_ empty air; Caulder had sent teams down to check. Half of his command was now down on the planet, either combing for the source of the anomaly or otherwise poking around, fulfilling the station's primary mission.

Sam ground his palms into his eyes and reached for another pot of the thick dark coffee. It had been a long night, and it promised to be a long day. This routine continued until long after the second day shift. Reports would come in from the large array of powerful sensors, Sam would puzzle over them while staring off into space, or down at the planet. None of them made any sense. There was something emitting a whole lot of energy, which by itself was nothing he hadn't seen or heard about, the galaxy was full of these high energy anomalies, almost to the point some people considered it the norm. What was truly puzzling was _where_ the energy was being emitted. The emissions were being picked up in subspace, but they weren't originating there. In fact, the anomalous readings mirrored those picked up in normal space when a subspace transceiver was being run on maximum.

"The latest from the eyeball, Lieutenant," Ensign Mitre said behind him, using the team's nickname for the globular subspace telescope that hung below the station on spindly struts.

"Thank you, Ensign." Sam took the PADD without looking at it. His eyes were still wearily fixed on the dull violet skies below. It looked like a storm was spinning up over the Northern continent. He'd need to send a warning to teams in the area with orders to take cover if it got any worse.

"Isn't it beautiful," the Ensign asked, "I grew up on Talos III, all I ever had to look forward to from orbit was patchy browns and reds." She spoke wistfully, as if imagining the rusty surface of her homeworld. "A pretty ship that deserves a pretty captain."

"I'm sorry, what?" the lieutenant mumbled. He wasn't certain he had heard that last part. Before he could turn, the storm cell over the northern continent erupted in a pure white that near blinded him. It spread across the upper atmosphere in a great blooming flower of light and fire. At his side, the terminal began to hiss and screech with garbled static and random ghost noise. Elsewhere, the subspace activity readouts exploded with unusual activity. "Someone! Record those readings!" Sam yelled as he leapt to his own computer, his fatigue forgotten. He nudged down the volume controls to the point of silent and stared at the static now filling his screen. "And I thought this couldn't get any stranger."

Down below, the bloom died and withered, leaving a scorched area miles wide etched in the jungle below.

* * *

Commander Amanda Gray walked down the gangplank in high spirits. While on the outside she might have shown little more than a half smile and a slightly higher step than usual, on the inside she wanted nothing more than to shout to her doubly good fortune. The metal clomped familiarly under her high boots as she took the final step onto her _Contest_. She took second to run her fingers over the worn metal hand guards as the bosun blew his pipes.

"Thank you, Mister Perim, that will be all," she said with a nod. The bosun bowed his head low, touching a salute to the tip of the dark spots than ran from forehead to toe.

"As you were, ma'am." The trill rose and dismissed the side party. Gray saw them off and then turned towards her own quarters. The halls of the _Contest_ were empty, with most of her crew either asleep or ashore. She had left at least a few of her bridge officers at the Ball. As she turned the final corner towards her cabin, another set of footsteps joined her own.

"I assume things went well, ma'am?" her XO fell in behind her. The woman was Vulcan, though Gray didn't hold that against her, she was as capable an officer as Amanda had served under, with, or over. Lieutenant Marianthi had been serving on the _Contest _since before Gray had begun her own command. She had continued to serve loyally even through the Vulcan Rebellions.

"That they did Mari, that they did. Inform the men that shore leave is cancelled, I want to be drilling for the upcoming war games by first watch two days from now." The doors to her quarters swished open at her approach. Marianthi followed her in.

"I presume that this means our patrols have been cancelled?" the stony faced woman asked. Amanda turned to face her and nodded. She undid the clasp on her dress shirt and let the heavy red cloth fall away from her shoulders before collapsing into one of the fine wooden chairs that she'd smuggled aboard.

"Yes, I ran into Admiral Hallis groundside. He's asked us to serve as escort for his flag."

"The _Courageous _is a fine ship, we'll need to pull double drills just to keep up with her and her crew," Marianthi noted.

"Agreed, you'll draw up the schedule?" Gray allowed herself to relax. Landing General Spock had been a stroke of good luck, and finding Hallis had been another. Experience had taught her that one had to strike quickly when such opportunities arrived. The drills would just be her first windup.

"Of course, ma'am," the Vulcan saluted, using the open palm of the Commonwealth. "I will see you on the first watch." The doors swished closed again as she left. Gray heaved herself out of the chair and walked slowly over to the in-wall replicator.

"Computer, Rum, spiced." The replicator complied, briefly lighting up and a clear plastic tumbler of dark reddish liquid. She loosened the high color on the soft grey undertunic and withdrew the drink, knocking back a mouthful of the spicy alcohol, savoring the familiar smell that filled her nose. She sank back into the wooden chair and put her feet up. Today had been a very good day.


	4. Chapter 3

Dimensionality Chapter 3

Today had been a very bad day. Sam paced in front of the wide window, as he had for the past several hours. Outside, the planet still roiled from the remnants of the blast that had shaken it in the early morning hours. His little station on the edge of the Federation had been plunged into chaos, as if his command had been transformed from its usual sleepy backwater into a floating vacuum sealed anthill. Everything had gone wrong, apparently all at once. The blast had knocked loose the ground based sensors, leaving him blind. It had also left the teams sweeping the planet cut off from the station. In addition, comms were out. Something had rooted itself deep into the main computer's core and was stubbornly resisting all attempts to remove it. Which wouldn't be so bad, except that the locations that the virus, or whatever it was, had decided to set up shop in all dealt with communications. Sam sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

"The results of the deep scan you asked for are in," one of the ensigns offered as he turned away from the tableau below. He took the PADD and sat once more at his desk. A cursory inspection confirmed his earlier assumption; the event that had rocked the foundations of the planet had not originated in normal space _or_ subspace, yet it shared all the characteristics of a subspace explosion.

"Thank you ensign, any news on the ground teams?" the ensign's face signaled that he wouldn't like the answer.

"No sir. Our rescue shuttle was knocked about during the explosion and the ground teams had the rest of them. Until the shuttle's repaired our we get communications back we won't be able to contact anyone on the planet."

"Thank you, Ensign, that will be all," Sam said. He allowed the young man to leave the room before allowing himself to collapse into his chair. Two late nights in a row were starting to take their toll, and the Starfleet lieutenant found it hard to remain focused on the results of the scan that he held in his hand. Somewhere into the second page of complex graphs and figures, his eyelids drooped for a final time and he fell into a heavy doze.

_He was standing alone on a white beach, wind blowing and tugging at his youthfully long hair. Little eddies in the smooth sand made patterns as the wind picked up tiny particles of sand, a shifting, moving cloud that danced just above the ground splitting only where a dune peaked above it, or where it hit the small pile of rocks that he had assembled at his feet. He picked one up, bouncing it a little in his palm before throwing it in a carefully calculated arc. The stone skipped off the low waves, leaving tiny ripples. __**He**__ was late again, just like always. He picked up another stone and skimmed it out over the water. __**He **__would justify it, just like always, but it didn't take the sting out of being left to wait alone, on this mournful beach. He angrily tossed the last stone. It didn't skip, instead plopping heavily into the water. He watched the rapidly expanding ripples dissipate, a cloud of sand making a plume that settled before reaching the surface…_

Sam jerked awake, still in the empty Ops center of the science station.

"Computer, bring up the 3-D imager, set to draw!" the computer complied with its usual speed and efficiency. Sam shifted in his chair to get a better look at the terminal. "I've got it."

* * *

"We're losing him, Captain!" the Signals officer cried as the light frigate pulled away on the viewscreen. Commander Gray sat in her chair, hands steepled in front of tightly pursed lips.

"Helm, I want full power to engines, take power from rear shields if you have to. I want to pull beside that ship if it's the last thing we do. Guns, lay in a spread across his nose, maybe we can convince him that running away is a most unwise course of action." The crew jumped to their tasks with the slow ponderousness born of over-practice. The ship shook as the chase guns launched their projectiles, bright glowing torpedoes that flew past the frigate, exploding on proximity fuses. The ship continued to drive ahead regardless. At the Signals console, the young Lieutenant suddenly stood to attention.

"Ma'am, I'm detecting a ship exiting warp, dead to aft! IFF marks as unfriendly!" his shock was mirrored throughout the bridge crew. Gray showed no sign of surprise.

"What's her displacement, Leftenant?" she called in an even tone. The officer quickly scanned his console.

"Tonnage suggests cruiser configuration, design is definitely not Commonwealth," he replied, "they're powering shields and weapons."

"Guns, Engines, suggestions?" the commander asked, turning in her steel command chair to face the addressed bridge officers. Technically assessing the tactical situation was the realm of the Gunnery Officer, but Lieutenant Hammond, the man standing at the Engines station, had shown a real knack for improvisation. The two men gave her slightly confused looks, Commonwealth Navy doctrine generally held the Captain up as the ultimate authority, questions were rarely asked of subordinates. However, Commander Gray was not brought up in the Commonwealth Navy.

"Abandon the chase of the frigate to focus on the new ship. Since ship is of unknown design, fall back to Standard Doctrine and make probing attacks until a weakness is discovered," the Gunnery Officer rattled off. Unlike his colleague on the Engines console, Ensign Connor Farral was a model Commonwealth officer; a strict and rigid adherent to doctrine above all else. He was also son and heir to a minor trader baron back on Mars, compounding his lack of creativity with an unhealthy dose of self-importance.

"Helm, lay in a course, get us behind that ship. Anything to add, Leftenant Hammond?" Gray returned to facing the viewscreen. Already the frigate they had been chasing was gaining ground, using the cover of its larger kin to make good its escape.

"Drop a probe to scan for weaknesses in the attacker's shields. With luck we'll find a way to crack their defenses and it may draw their fire for enough time to allow us to maneuver into an attack position," the man said uncertainly. Gray smiled. She hadn't thought of using one of the ship's exploration probes in a tactical situation, but the plan was sound. She might even add a few touches of her own.

"An interesting plan, ready the probe for launch. Also, get Ordinance to fill its sample hopper with antimatter and rig up a fuse for proximity detonation. Let's give our new friend a nasty surprise if he decides to ignore the probe." The ship began to shake as the cruiser's superior chase guns began to close on the _Contest_'s position. The Helm Officer threw the small ship into a tight loop, a maneuver the larger cruiser couldn't hope to match. None the less, its ponderous engines flared, driving it into line for a broadside. The young officer, also an ensign, was ahead of him though. Before the other ship could unleash its broadside photon batteries, he cut thrust and let out a blast from the ventral thrusters, bouncing the _Contest_ up and over the incoming salvo.

"Probe is prepped and ready to go," Hammond reported, "ready to drop on your command."

"Commence drop," Gray ordered, "Let's see what we can see." Inwardly she suppressed a grin. She knew exactly what they would find, the question was whether anyone else on the bridge would pick up on it.

"Receiving probe telemetry now, Ma'am, putting it up on screen." The Signals Officers fingers danced across his console. The image of the long gone frigate was replaced by a schematic of the unidentified cruiser. The image was an amalgam of different sensor readings, detailed in parts, but fuzzy in others.

"Looks like there are close to a hundred life signs aboard, low for its weight class. That could be a sign of heavy automation." XO Marianthi noted, highlighting the bright red dots that clustered to the fore and aft of the blocky ship. The image on the screen rippled as the cruiser loosed another salvo, this one shooting wide, but coming much closer than the previous.

"Did you see that?" Hammond asked over the noise of the active battle bridge, "right there." He reversed the real time image, focusing on the second the ship fired its side guns. Gray looked on silently. "Looks like the shields flicker when it fires, maybe a power instability or other distortion. Could be that weakness we've been looking for."

"He's right, if we target the line that runs the length of their battery at the second they fire, it could give us enough time to do some damage." the Gunnery Officer added. "We'll need some fancy flying to avoid their fire long enough to get our own shots in."

"Fancy flying comes free of charge," the helmsman jibed as he hopped the ship over another round of shooting. The ship shook as several charges caught the underside of the _Contest_'s shields.

"You won't have time," a rough voice sounded from the back of the bridge. The _Contest_'s grizzled Master of Marines, Sergeant Harry Wells, stepped forward.

"Excuse me?" Farral balked, actually turning from his station to face the marine. The Master of Marines didn't shift.

"Even after breaching, there won't be enough time to put boot to that cruiser. Now, you put a small hole in the thing, me and my boys can get in there, tear the place up a little."

"You're suggesting a boarding party?" Gray asked. The man nodded. "I like it. Sergeant, round up a party of your best. Helm, keep the fancy flying on tap. Guns, get ready to fire on their next broadside." The crew aye-ayed her rapid fire stream of directives. The sergeant saluted and left the bridge, making his way quickly to the fore transporter room. A section of ten marines fell in behind him at unspoken command.

"Everybody ought to hold on to something," the helmsman called, ignoring the fact that the inertial dampeners would rob the maneuver of its blackout inducing g-forces. He pulled the narrow ship alongside the cruiser's bulk. Already the larger ship was preparing another attack.

"Now, Helm!" The ship swooped, narrowly avoiding the salvo. The _Contest_'s own broadside flashed, six guns launching antimatter warheads into the cruiser's larger shields.

"Detecting a micro-fracture in their shields, transport in progress." Signals updated. "They're aboard Captain." The cruiser broke off suddenly, its engines dead. The lights on the bridge lit up to their full brightness. The viewscreen reset, giving the bridge crew a view of empty space, empty of frigates, cruisers, or anything else of note. A brief message flashed across the screen, 'Simulation Over.'

"Well Captain, it looks as if there is some hope for this crew yet." Marianthi said, leaning in to address her commander.

"It was never in doubt, Leftenant, never in doubt."

* * *

In low orbit above the bruised purple world on the edge of the Royal Commonwealth of Worlds, a ring of subspace stuff was leaking into the dull atmosphere. The leak continued undetected as the crew of the HMS _Contest_ celebrated a successful round of simulations. As it continued, it grew in size, until the atmosphere of the planet became hopelessly polluted, unlivable and unnavigable by warp drive. As the ring grew in size, it also grew in depth, until it touched the very barriers that defined the edge of subspace itself. Then it kept going.

* * *

The 3-D image floated on the viewscreen that hung on the wall in front of the room full of ensigns. The host of blue-uniformed young officers sat in a ring, listening to the tired looking lieutenant hold forth on his theory.

"So what you're saying is that the explosion originated outside of subspace?" Ensign Mitre asked from the front row. Her pretty hair, like many of her coworker's, was tousled by lack of sleep and frenetic activity.

"That's exactly it," Lieutenant Caulder said, "the event shares all the traits of a subspace explosion, but the ripples, something we'd normally see in normal space, are emanating _in_ subspace. From this we can only concur that there is a third layer to space, a sub-subspace if you will, which hasn't been seen until now."

An ensign in the back raised his hand. "We couldn't call it something snappier? Maybe like thirdspace or something?"

"We can name it later," Sam snapped before pausing to collect himself. "The important thing is, we have found what might be the most important find of the last century. What I've… we've been doing here may well go down in the history books. Now, I want everyone writing everything down. You, Ensign Stevens…" he was interrupted by the chirp of the internal comms.

"Lieutenant, you're going to want to come down and see this." It was one of the techs, Caulder thought it may have been the Operations Chief. "We have communication on line, and I don't think you're going to like what we've dug out of the main computer."

* * *

NonSolus: My vision is less of an Evil Federation/Good Federation and more of an Imperialist Federation/Cynical Federation. I'm trying to shoot for grey on grey, with a much bigger conflict waiting in the wings, but we'll have to see. Thanks for keeping up with this fic by the way, I always appreciate your comments.


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